


the beat goes (on and on)

by dansunedisco



Series: fratboy sterek 'verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Frat Boy Derek Hale, Frat Boy Stiles Stilinski, Fraternities & Sororities, M/M, Misunderstandings, Partying, Pining, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes a sip of his beer and scans the crowd. It’s wild tonight, but that’s nothing new for Alpha Delt. Jackson’s on DJ duty, which explains the shitty dubstep blasting through the speakers. Writhing, drunk bodies are packed in every corner, and the scent of weed hangs heavy in the stale air. He takes a sniff and sighs, disappointed. He was offered to take a hit off one of the many blunts making the rounds tonight, but he declined. All because Derek likes him to be (mostly) sober when they fuck, doesn’t like to mess around with consent on either end.</p>
<p>Not that Derek’s shown any interest in him tonight. Whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the beat goes (on and on)

**Author's Note:**

> [NSFW visual for ya.](http://capitalboy.tumblr.com/post/107953572364)

Stiles takes a sip of his beer and scans the crowd. It’s wild tonight, but that’s nothing new for Alpha Delt. Jackson’s on DJ duty, which explains the shitty dubstep blasting through the speakers. Writhing, drunk bodies are packed in every corner, and the scent of weed hangs heavy in the stale air. He takes a sniff and sighs, disappointed. He was offered to take a hit off one of the many blunts making the rounds tonight, but he declined. All because Derek likes him to be (mostly) sober when they fuck, doesn’t like to mess around with consent on either end. ****

Not that Derek’s shown any interest in him tonight. Whatever.

Speaking of: Derek’s across the room, looking hot as fuck and stereotypically Greek. Flat-brimmed snapback and chinos, riding that line between a bro and a business professional. He has a rum and coke in hand (Stiles knows this because he had to pour the damn drink) and he’s talking to someone. A girl, specifically, who also happens to be hot as fuck; a brunette with full lips and full eyebrows. She would be Stiles’s type, too, if he wasn’t epically gone on the guy chatting her up.

Because, yes, like a dumbass, he’s jealous over someone who is definitely _not_ his boyfriend. It’s easy to acknowledge that he’s being an idiot, but he can’t help it, can’t change the way he feels. He and Derek have been sleeping together for weeks, and that’s all it was ever supposed to be, all he thought it _would_ be: pure no-strings attached sex, benefits no one could know about. But, somewhere along the line, Stiles developed _feelings._ Like a cliché. God.

He takes a gulp of his beer. He usually likes partying -- dancing and drinking and smoking is an awesome way to let loose -- but he would rather be anywhere else right now. He sees Derek throw his head back with a laugh, and he glances away, not wanting to see Derek enjoying himself so thoroughly with someone who’s not him.

Someone screams in the beer pong room then, and a responding howl rises up from the rest of the revelers, one by one. Stiles, pointedly, does not join in. Instead, he rolls his eyes. _There’s always one_ , he thinks, and he’s just about to sneak off somewhere, anywhere, when he catches Derek’s gaze from across the room. It’s heavy-lidded and purposeful, but the brunette is still there, talking to Lydia Martin and nudging Derek with her elbow. Stiles gives him a terse, acknowledging nod, not satisfied with being the dirty little secret Derek keeps tonight, and slips upstairs. 

He doesn’t have to wait long before he’s joined.

“In hindsight, if I really wanted to be alone, going upstairs probably wasn’t the best idea,” he muses aloud.

Derek locks the door before he comes to sit at the edge of the bed. He hooks his finger into the waistband of Stiles’s shorts. “You _did_ give me the sex nod.” 

He scoffs. “I did _not_. I gave you the ‘see you later’nod, or even maybe a ‘have fun with the girl _’_ nod.” 

“Have fun with the girl?” He raises his eyebrow. “What girl?” 

Stiles flails up onto his elbows. “Dude. Come on. The brunette you were talking to all night.” 

“The brunette. You mean my sister? Cora?”

He gapes. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I told you I have two sisters, and that one of them was coming up to visit for the weekend.” Derek leans over and gives Stiles a kiss that quickly turns heated. He pulls back, nips at Stiles’s bottom lip. “Were you jealous, pledge?” 

The heat goes right out of Stiles at that. He turns his face away, but Derek moves along to press sucking kisses along his neck like nothing’s wrong. And, for all Derek knows, nothing is.

He tries to shake the feeling off -- the reality being that he’s nothing but a steady hook-up, meaningless and convenient -- and pulls Derek on top of him. The sex is good. Mind-blowing, even. Why deny himself? He spreads his legs, brackets Derek’s hips with his knees and dips his hands underneath the back of Derek’s shirt. He drags his hands up and down Derek’s burning skin, swirls his fingers around the tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades, let’s himself be kissed and touched in return. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek whispers into his ear.

He opens his eyes, mildly confused. “What? Nothing. Everything’s great. Totally great.”

Derek shifts to hold himself up, and he just looks down at Stiles, unbelieving. “Are you high?”

Now Stiles gets irritated, frustrated. “No, of course not! I know how you’re all about -- _you know_. Can’t _fuck_ the pledge when he’s not in his right mind.” 

He narrows his eyes, searching Stiles’s for a moment. “You were _jealous_.”

“Maybe I don’t like to share,” he fires back. He doesn’t want to make whatever’s going on between them _more._ More than he wants, more than what Derek wants to give. Not that Stiles knows what that is. They fuck, they talk in-between, but it’s not like _that_. Would he even date Derek if it were an option?

It feels like forever before Derek kisses him again. This time, Stiles doesn’t let his mind drift. He grinds up in perfect counterpoint to Derek’s hips driving down against his, and he tucks his hands into the back pockets of Derek’s pants, kneads Derek’s perfect ass and drinks in the moan it elicits. He doesn’t fuck Derek often, but when he does, god, he can’t get enough. He thinks about asking for it tonight, memory sense reminding him how _hot_ and tight Derek would feel around him, but -- 

“I wanna blow you,” Derek says, sucks a bruise against Stiles’s neck, presses his tongue in a filthy circle in that _one_ spot that turns Stiles’s legs to jelly.

Oh _fuck_ , he thinks, or maybe he says it aloud, because Derek huffs, amused, and proceeds to slither down the tiny twin bed. He unbuttons Stiles’s shorts with steady fingers, and drags them down, Stiles lifting his hips to help the way.

Stiles is achingly hard already, and Derek wastes no time in pulling his dick free. He strokes the shaft, calloused thumb swiping over the head. He has a smirk on his beautiful face, at ease and confident in the ways he can take Stiles apart.

Stiles watches, hips shifting restlessly under the weight of Derek draped across his thighs, breath hitching when Derek finally leans down to suck him into his perfect mouth; his tongue swirls around the sensitive tip, his free hand pumping the base, and Stiles settles back on the pillow that smells exactly like Derek and tries to hold it together. He doesn’t want it to end, but Derek’s making it near impossible not to succumb. The noises, the sound of Derek slurping around his dick -- it’s like he’s riding on a knife-edge. 

“ _Derek_ ,” he moans, hands twisting up into the sheets by his head. “I’m going to come in five seconds if you don’t stop --” 

Derek doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles his efforts, working himself down until he’s almost choking on Stiles’s dick, and it’s the image -- Derek, with his eyes closed, mouth pink and shiny wet -- that has Stiles shooting off down Derek’s throat with a broken shout. 

He barely has a chance to get his bearings before he’s flipped over onto his stomach. He and Derek are essentially the same size, muscle mass the main difference between them, but he gets _off_ on the manhandling like nothing else. He draws his knees up and tilts his hips back, the movements automatic, and groans when he feels Derek rub his hole with slick fingers. He jerks when he realizes it must be spit -- there’s no way Derek got the lube without him noticing -- but he’s relaxed enough that one finger slides in no problem.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, can’t help but hump back onto Derek’s fingers, greedy for more.

“Get the lube,” Derek says. His voice is rough, gravelly, and Stiles scrambles for the plastic box Derek keeps under the bed, shivery and out of his mind as Derek fingers him into oblivion. 

He tosses it over his shoulder and hears the cap pop open, moans when he feels the cool liquid poured over his ass a moment later. Derek’s adds another finger then, curls them to press against that one spot that makes Stiles sigh and shudder at the same time. It’s almost too much, the sound of Derek’s finger squelching freely in and out of him, aided by the slippery slick. He feels like he’s on fire, his hole clenching and fluttering around Derek’s finger; if he could come again so soon after getting blown, he would. 

“I’m ready,” he says, though he probably shouldn’t be begging just yet. Two of Derek’s fingers aren’t even close to the size of his dick, but he doesn’t care. “I’m serious. I can take it.” 

Derek groans then, and pulls his fingers free. Derek shuffles forward on his knees and grips Stiles’s hip one-handed.

Stiles arches his back and feels the head of Derek’s dick against him next, slowing pressing its way inside. He takes a deep breath and bares down against the sweet stretch. The head’s the widest part, he reminds himself. Still, he feels _full_ , tight in his own skin. 

“Don’t stop,” he says when he feels Derek hesitate. “I want to feel you.”

“Are you --” 

“I’m _sure_ ,” he cuts in. 

Derek blankets himself over Stiles’s back when he’s all the way in, breathing heavier than before. He hooks his hands under Stiles’s shoulders and rolls his hips slowly, once, twice, working a sensual rhythm that’s just shy of what Stiles needs. Surprisingly, he’s hard again, dick trapped against his stomach and the almost-too-rough sheets. And no matter what he tries, Derek doesn’t speed up.

“Derek,” he whines, spreads his legs impossibly further apart. “Don’t play with me.”

“I like playing with you,” Derek whispers in his ear. But he seems to be done toying with Stiles tonight. He sets blunt teeth against Stiles’s shoulder and quickens the pace, a fast fuck, pistoning his hips hard enough for the headboard to bang against the wall. 

It’s exactly what Stiles needs. His mouth falls open and he rides the high, crosses his arms to grip desperately at Derek’s hands. 

“That’s it,” Derek murmurs, drags his stubbled chin against Stiles’s back, “that’s it, Stiles.”

“Nnng, _please_.” He’s babbling, unfurling from the inside out -- so _close_ to the edge -- all he needs is a little more.

“Come on.” Derek rolls his hips, harder. “Come for me, babe.” 

It’s the first time Derek’s _ever_ called him anything but ‘pledge’ or ‘Stiles’ (or even ‘idiot’), and he gasps as he comes, trembling and shaking with Derek inside of him.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he hisses. He grinds his face into Derek’s pillow and drinks in the spicy scent -- they’re going to have to air the bedroom out before they go back downstairs to the party, absolutely -- and holds himself open as Derek finishes himself off with a stuttered out groan.

They pull apart after a long moment, and Derek spoons him from behind after he disposes of the condom. He’s coming down, sweat cooling on his skin, when Derek’s hand slides up his stomach to rest on his chest, thumb stroking gently over his heart.

“You were jealous,” Derek says, a repeat from earlier.

Stiles lets the statement hang in the air, not sure what to say. Yes, he was jealous. He wants Derek. He wants to _be_ with Derek, be more than his pledge fuckbuddy. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I was. So what?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

Derek nudges him with his chin. “Tomorrow,” he says. “And we can bring it up to the board.”

Stiles’s eyes spring open and he flops around until he’s facing Derek. “Bring what up?”

“That we’re together.” Derek raises his eyebrows. “Unless I’ve read this completely wrong--”

Stiles flails. “No! No. You’ve read this guy totally right, dude.”

“So the board needs to know. And you’ll need a new big brother --”

“Wait, wait, I changed my mind. We can’t say anything because you’ll be _kicked out_  of the frat!”

Derek sighs and kisses him, soft and slow. “Maybe. Worse things have happened.”

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s chest. “Fuck. You’re a secret romantic, aren’t you? A cinnamon roll with a kinky sex center filling.”

He huffs against the top of Stiles’s head. “Whatever you say, pledge.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> this got waaaay more emotional than part 1. oh well. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
